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| Family
calculus: Bacon and Mawe in Proof. |
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It Up
By James Yeara
Proof
By David August, directed
by Maggie Mancinelli-Cahill
Capital Repertory Theatre, through Oct.
6
Proof
is everywhere. For the past two years it has been playing
in New York (currently at the Walter Kerr Theatre). From Mary-Louise
Parker to Jennifer Jason Leigh to Anne Heche, the New York
production has attracted high-profile actresses. A national
tour of the 2001 Pulitzer Prize- and Tony Award-winning play
continues to make its way around the country. The play closed
in London with a production starring Gwyneth Paltrow (rumored
to be set to star in the movie version) as the 25-year-old
younger daughter of a math genius-turned-madman. From Salt
Lake City to South Carolina, from Seattle to Denver to Arkansas,
Proof pops up in Equity theaters cashing in on the
play’s friendly humor and romance.
Proof
deserves the popularity, the various awards and the multiple
productions. Set in the backyard and on the porch of a University
of Chicago mathematician, the play presents nine scenes of
multiple relationships: father-daughter, sister-sister, woman-man,
sane-insane. Insanity seems to be fun to watch. With affinities
to the Academy Award-winning A Beautiful Mind, Proof’s
nine scenes move quickly and work together, seamlessly connecting
whether in the present or in flashback, fluidly connecting
each moment on stage with an ease that keeps the audience
engaged. The frequent humor of Proof takes the edge
off of what could be a syrupy sentimental tale; the play’s
through line centers on whether the younger daughter will
follow in her genius, but ultimately insane, father’s footsteps
after being his sole caretaker for four years. Is genius hereditary?
Is madness? What do children owe their parents? What do parents
owe their children? What do siblings and lovers owe one another?
Proof gives comforting answers. Despite the esoteric
nature of the protagonist’s field of study— mathematics—Proof
pleases many.
Proof
begins on the 25th birthday of Catherine (Mary Bacon), the
youngest daughter of Robert (Richard Mawe), a mathematical
genius when he was 23, who has declined into a graphomaniac
by the end of his life. The genius/madman figuratively and
literally haunts Catherine. Robert’s mental illness takes
benign form in the compulsive writing of 103 journals. Hal
(Matthew J. Cody), Robert’s former graduate student, visits
to organize the notebooks and makes startling discoveries.
The next day, Catherine’s older sister Claire (Krista Hoeppner)
returns from her escape to a successful life in New York and
begins organizing Catherine’s life. The escapee’s guilt plays
against the frustration of the sacrificer’s denial. The sisters
fight, Catherine falls in love with Hal, Hal betrays her and
a hidden notebook provides the key to everything.
Capital Repertory’s production features a wonderful set by
Ted Simpson. The two-story wood-frame house is full of glass
windows that warp the light. The faded sky-blue paint seeps
weariness onto the stage from the trompe l’oeil wood clapboard
walls; this is a worn house, a troubled house. The lighting
design by Deborah Constantine, with its golden sunrise and
overcast afternoons heavy with shadows, marks the passage
of time that melds with the believability of the set. This
is a house and a yard in a neighborhood of a city that has
been lived in. It’s a set that legendary designer Jo Mielziner,
architect of the sets for Arthur Miller’s and Tennessee Williams’
greatest plays, would recognize as one of his offspring. The
naturalism of the set aids Proof’s shifting days and
the rush of ideas of the characters. Without such first-rate
stagecraft, Proof would wander aimlessly in the random
thoughts, observations, non sequiturs, theories, questions,
and minutiae of the four characters.
The performances, unfortunately, are a different matter. The
performers do little beyond indicating surface feelings and
thoughts; there are a lot of tics and big gestures and loud
grimaces and self- conscious line readings that are a testimony
to the power of the stand-and-declare school of performing.
People know cues and where to stand, and they speak clearly
and loudly. It’s like watching and listening to someone with
carpal tunnel reading Braille aloud: You get the idea, but
you’re painfully aware of the effort to get it done and feel
more pity than empathy. I left feeling Proof’s attraction
to actors and audiences, and imagining what Proof would
yield with actors who could prove a connection with the variables
of a character’s life and a mastery of the prime numbers of
acting.
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